


Show You a Few Things

by fairmellarky



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmellarky/pseuds/fairmellarky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wearing a suit and tie, Peeta Mellark accidentally shows up on Katniss Everdeen's doorstep. After a long time alone, he might just show her a few things. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show You a Few Things

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a drabble prompt from mitchesbcray that kind of got out of control. The prompt was "Everlark; knocking on the wrong door." I watched the video for Justin Timberlake's Suit & Tie right before I started writing this and was a little inspired. It kind of got away from me and once I started writing, I couldn't stop. I wanted to post it because I feel like it could be multi-chapter and I wanted to see what you guys thought and where I could go with this! This is unbeta'd - all mistakes are mine and I own nothing Hunger Games or Justin Timberlake related. Thanks for reading and I can't wait to hear your feedback :)

I’m settling in for a long night on the couch - popcorn bowl on the coffee table, a full glass of wine right next to it, and Netflix cued up to marathon season 2 of Orange is the New Black - when a pounding on my door almost makes me jump out of my skin. “Haymitch, open up! I need those cufflinks!” the distinctly male voice shouts from behind the wood.  
Irritation clouds my vision as I stand up to answer the door. I’m not irritated because of the interruption, hell I welcome it when I look around the room at the set up for my lonely Saturday night. I’m irritated because my slovenly drunk of a neighbor gave out the wrong apartment number again.

I wrench open the door without looking through the peephole and am greeted by an absolutely delicious sight. The blond man standing in my doorway is of average height, with thick ropes of muscle bulging in all the right places. But the truly impressive vision isn't his body, it is the finely tailored suit covering it. The exquisite material hugs exactly where it’s supposed to and the top buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, his bow tie hanging undone around his neck. His hair is slightly disheveled and his eyes go wide when he sees me.

I look down at myself in my worn leggings and baggy sweater and shuffle uncomfortably. He clears his throat.

“I, uh, I’m sorry,” he stammers as his eyes flick to the number on my door. “I wasn’t even paying attention to the door I was banging on. I was looking for Haymitch.”

I lean slightly forward and gesture to the left. “Haymitch is the next door over. I definitely don’t have any cufflinks. Sorry,” I mutter, not making eye contact.

“I’ll just head over there. Sorry for bothering you.” He lingers in the doorway for a few seconds before taking a step back. He seems to hesitate, his eyes not leaving my direction, before he mumbles another apology and heads down the hall.

I close the door, taking care to lock the deadbolt, without taking a breath. I make it all the way to the couch before I remember to suck in lungfuls of sweet oxygen as I sink into the cushions and grab for my glass, gulping a few mouthfuls of the dry wine. I only allow myself a few moments of fantasizing about the blond stranger before I reach for the remote and get lost in Litchfield.

\---

I don’t know what time it is when I wake, the soft glow from the television bathing my living room. The popcorn bowl is filled with unpopped kernals and my wine glass is bone dry. The annoying message asking me if I’m still watching is frozen on the screen as I try to blink the sleep out of my eyes. A quick glance at my phone tells me that it is one in the morning and no one has tried to contact me. I grab the blanket draped over the back of the couch and shift my legs up, planning on spending the night in the living room when I hear the commotion in the hallway.

My curiosity gets the best of me so I head over to the door and peer out of the peephole. I can’t see anything, so I ease open the door as quietly as I can and poke my head out. The blond from earlier is across the hall and a few doors down, cursing to himself and struggling with his keys. After a few moments, he throws the keys down in frustration and rakes his hair through his already mussed curls.

“Hey, is everything okay?” I surprise myself by calling out. He turns quickly, the surprise on his face melting into a smile when he sees me. He picks up the keys and takes a few steps towards me, his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I just, uh, my key. It’s not working. I just moved in and they gave me the wrong one or something. But, I can’t get into my apartment. I was just about to go bang on Haymitch’s door but he’s probably passed out drunk and won’t even hear me. I’ll probably have to call one of my brothers.” The amount of information he offers surprises me, considering how awkward things were earlier this evening.

“Well, I was just hanging out, watching some Netflix if you want to come in until you can get ahold of one of them,” I offer as I step aside and hold the door open, inviting him in.

To my surprise, he strides through the doorway and sits right on the couch. As he passes me I can smell his cologne and the strong, oaky scent of the bourbon he must have been drinking at whatever event he was at. My eyes wide and my mind racing, I know that I’m not going to be able to fall back asleep so I grab my empty wine glass and head into the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I call over my shoulder.

“I’ll never turn down a drink with a pretty lady,” the blond responds, his voice closer than I expected. I can feel the blush creep across my cheeks as I turn to find him standing in the kitchen doorway.  
I suddenly realize that I don’t even know this man’s name, yet here I am standing in my kitchen with him – a total stranger. He could be a serial killer for all I know. 

He must see the apprehension on my face because he steps forward and offers his hand. “It’s a little late but – hi, I’m Peeta Mellark. I just moved into this building. I like the color orange, I don’t take sugar in my tea and I always double-knot my shoelaces. I’ll take a Jack and coke if you have it, but any sort of cheap beer will do, too.” He smiles sheepishly as I grasp his hand. His grip is firm and his palm envelops mine, cool and smooth.

“I’m Katniss Everdeen. I’ve lived here for a few years now and you’re not the first person that has banged on my door looking for Haymitch. My favorite color is green, I’m an environmental scientist and I do have some Jack, but no coke. Sorry.”

“I’ll take two fingers, on the rocks then,” he replies. “And, now that we aren’t strangers anymore can I ask you a serious question?”

I reach into the cabinet and grab the almost full bottle of Jack Daniels before I shoot him a skeptical look.

“I guess that’s okay.”

He looks at me, his expression serious. “Just how often do Haymitch’s visitors knock on your door and do you invite all of them in during the wee hours of the morning?” The amusement dances in his blue eyes. I didn’t notice just how blue they are until this very moment.

I stare into his eyes for a few seconds until he clears his throat, snapping me out of my trance.

“Oh! Um, not often but he tends to give out the wrong apartment number. I’ve gotten used to just answering the door and pointing to the left. And, no, I’ve never invited anyone in.” I tell him.

He reaches behind me, his hand brushing my side. The contact makes me shiver. He picks up the glass containing his whiskey and whispers in my ear, “Until now.” He winks at me and strides back into the living room.

I busy myself with another glass of wine, trying to shake off the tingly feeling that has taken residence inside of my bones.” I fill the glass more than halfway before heading back towards where Peeta is sitting on my sofa.

He has made himself at home, flipping his way through Netflix and sipping his drink, and I can’t help but stare. He has taken off his suit jacket, slinging it over the arm of my recliner. The top buttons of his shirt are once again undone and his tie is nowhere to be seen. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbow and Haymitch’s cufflinks are left discarded on my coffee table. When I saw him earlier I thought there was no sexier sight than Peeta dressed up in a suit – until I saw him before me, dressed down in a suit.

I tear my eyes away from the smattering of chest hair that peeks out from the vee at the top of his shirt and settle on the couch next to him. I can smell him again and it makes my stomach turn cartwheels.

“I figured we can watch a movie, if that’s ok. I figured it’s less commitment than starting a series marathon at almost two in the morning.”

“Works for me,” I answer as I watch him settle on Dirty Dancing. He looks over at me and I smirk back, the disbelief evident in my eyes. He just shrugs.

“What? It’s a classic. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m crazy for Swayze.”

I can’t help but laugh at his words, and I feel myself easing into a familiar sense of comfort with this man that I barely know.

“Hey, I’ll never say no to Dirty Dancing. And I have a high level of respect for any man comfortable enough in his sexuality to admit to what a hottie Patrick Swayze is. I commend you, sir,” I say through my laughter. Peeta just rolls his eyes and presses play, settling into the cushions.

As the movie progresses, we find ourselves drawn to each other. We start out on opposite ends of the couch. When Baby and Johnny are practicing the lift, I find my legs draped over Peeta’s lap and by the time Johnny declares that no one will put Baby in a corner, his head is nestled on my chest and our legs are entwined. I breathe deeply, committing to memory the smell of his shampoo and the feeling of his arm around my waist. I want to remember it all because, between the alcohol and the circumstances, I’m sure that this will be a one-time occurrence.

The credits begin to roll and Peeta looks up at me, his blue eyes bright beneath the thick black of his too-curly eyelashes. Before I can think – before I can talk myself out of it, really – I lean down and catch his lips with my own. They are full and smooth between mine, and for a minute he freezes in surprise, but eventually his mouth begins to move underneath mine.

He shifts so that he is on top of me fully, my legs wrapped around his waist and his pelvis settled comfortably against mine. He holds himself up on his elbows as his head dips, his mouth eagerly exploring mine.

I tangle my hands in his hair and try to tug him impossibly closer; I want to drink all of him in. His tongue tastes like whiskey and sleep and I can’t get enough of it.

I let my hands roam down his neck, across his shoulders and settle on his waist. I tug up his shirt and slip my hands under, wanting to feel his skin on mine. It’s just as wonderfully smooth and warm as I had expected.

His tongue sweeps through my mouth, and I let out a soft moan. Peeta must take it as encouragement, because he breaks his lips from mine and starts to move his mouth over my jaw and up to my earlobe. He suckles there for a few seconds before dropping his head and running his tongue along the cord of my neck. His hand is poised above my breast and his eyes meet mine, asking for permission. I buck my hips against his and nod.

Peeta continues to run his tongue over my skin as his hands expertly knead my breasts, stopping every so often to tug on my nipples. Every time he does it he sends a jolt of electricity between my legs and my hips buck wildly against his, his erection hard against my center.

Peeta pulls back abruptly and I cry out, reaching for him, trying desperately to pull his body back against mine.

“Katniss, is this ok? Here, on the couch?” 

I push him back and scramble to my feet, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind me. “Bedroom, let’s go into the bedroom.”

Peeta doesn’t say a word, he just follows behinds me, moving his hands to my hips and pushing me along. I kick open the door to my room and tug him to the bed.

We fall together, two sets of hands tugging and groping and squeezing. My breathy sighs mix with his heady groans to create a spontaneous soundtrack of longing.

We tug at buttons and zippers, tossing items of clothing to the side until we are both naked, hot skin against hot skin. I sit up on my elbows and he looks at me questioningly. I don’t reply, I just reach into my nightstand drawer and pull out a condom, suddenly thankful for my sister’s gag gift last Christmas. His eyes darken as he snatches it from me and tears it open with his teeth, expertly sheathing it over his stiff cock.

In one fluid, graceful motion he pushes my knees apart and flicks his hips, filling me up completely. It has been so long since I have been with anyone but the initial shock of pain fades into an intense pulse of pleasure as he languidly moves his hips.

I meet him thrust for thrust as he picks up his pace until he slips his arms under my back and rolls, settling me on top of him. I watch his eyes as I automatically set the pace. I brace my hands on his chest and grind against him in slow circles until his eyes roll back and he lets out a guttural moan.

I can feel the beginning of my orgasm so I pick up the pace, bouncing erratically. Peeta reaches up and cups my breasts his thumbs brushing lightly over each of my nipples and I instinctively tighten around him as my orgasm washes over me. Light explodes behind my eyelids as Peeta takes over for me, pulling my hips down and thrusting up as I come undone.

“Oh god, you’re so tight,” he breathes out, my walls clenching him. As my orgasm fades, I lean over him, resting against his chest as he thrusts up into me. My mouth is next to his ear and I groan into it, wanting him to hear how good he’s making me feel.

He jerks and I know that he is coming, his fingers are digging into my flesh, pleasurably painful. I know that I’m going to have half moon marks from his fingernails and I don’t care. I relish in the fact that he is leaving his mark on me.

He empties himself in the latex and I wish that I could feel him spilling hotly inside of me. I lay my head on his chest, our sweat mixing together as his arms wrap around me. The chill in the air catches my back and Peeta must feel me shiver because he pulls the sheet over us. I lift myself slowly off of his softening cock, grasping the base to keep the condom in place. He peels it off and tosses it into the trash can next to my bed, along with the foil wrapper.

I settle myself next to him, my head in the crook of his shoulder and he sighs in contentment as my fingers dance through his chest hair. As my eyes flutter shut and I drift off to sleep, I realize that he never did call his brothers.


End file.
